


Not Entirely Unlike

by LectorEl



Category: Naruto
Genre: Fucked up kids with fucked up coping mechanisms, Gen, Haku has issues, Itachi has issues, Kisame has issues too but he's an actual adult so he's handling it, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: "My name is Haku," the boy says, in the tonelessly even voice of an ANBU pushed too far over the edge. "My master Zabuza sent me to you, Kisame-san." His eyes flicker over Kisame's shoulder, barely a token effort made at pretending he's present. There is a blankness to him, an all-too-familiar hollowness that Itachi recognizes.





	Not Entirely Unlike

"My name is Haku," the boy says, in the tonelessly even voice of an ANBU pushed too far over the edge. "My master Zabuza sent me to you, Kisame-san." His eyes flicker over Kisame's shoulder, barely a token effort made at pretending he's present. There is a blankness to him, an all-too-familiar hollowness that Itachi recognizes.

_(It's been almost a year and a half since Itachi destroyed everything he loved, only a few final orders to give him guidance. He wonder how long it's been for Haku.)_

Kisame's expression is almost enough to move Itachi to laughter, even with this unhappy mirror in front of him. “ _Momochi_ sent– If the man wasn't already _dead_ , I'd kill him myself.”

Haku shrugs, still staring. Orders fulfilled, waiting for the next command. It makes Itachi uncomfortable – was he this obvious in his grief? Hopefully not.

"We're heading to Tea country, kid," Kisame says. “Can you keep up?” Haku nods, and Itachi glances sideways at his partner. He wouldn't have expected the man to take on a liability such as this boy. But he's perhaps being unkind – Kisame is willing to work with Itachi, after all. It could be he has a soft spot for broken things.

"How long ago did Zabuza die?" Itachi asks, trying to draw the boy out of his daze.

Haku turns his unfocused attention towards Itachi. "Two months." Itachi nods. Less than he'd expected, based on the loose fit of the boy's clothes. He removes a ration bar from his pocket, and passes it to Haku.

"Eat," he orders. Haku eats, not bothering to check for tampering. Itachi exchanges a weary glance with Kisame.

 _ **Suicide watch?**_ He asks with a discreet twitch of his hand.

Kisame shakes his head. _**Kiri-trained. Conditioning requires battle-death.**_

Itachi wonders how long it will be until the boy comes unstuck from his daze of grief. It could be weeks, or months. Itachi had barely spoken, the first year after the massacre. Even now, words came only with care.

Haku keeps pace with them through the night, breath growing ragged but without complaint. Its impressive for a boy only two or three years older than Sasuke. Zabuza, the dead man, trained his weapon well. They pass the border as twilight creeps across the sky, and Haku stumbles for the first time. He falls to one knee and retches, coughing up stomach acid and little more. Itachi stops and loops his arm over the younger boy's shoulders.

“A little further,” Itachi says. “We'll make camp soon.” Haku murmurs a sound of acknowledgment, rising to his feet with little grace and lurching forward.

"Nausea, and poor coordination," Kisame says once they've found a suitably sheltered outcropping, irritation bleeding into his voice. "Fever too?”

“A mild one,” Itachi confirms, removing the rarely-used bedroll from his pack and tossing it to Haku. The boy fumbles the catch, and barely manages to get it lain out before half-falling onto it. He's asleep in moments.

Kisame scoffs. “Chakra exhaustion. Stupid kid. Thought Momochi would've taught his student better."

'Weapon,' Itachi doesn't correct. The distinction is a fine one, and rarely recognized by those on the other side of it. All shinobi are weapons – the difference lies in which ones can wield themselves, and which need someone to wield them.

Haku shivers on the thin bedroll, making a low sound of incoherent complaint. Sick as a dog, as Kakashi-sempei would say. Would have said. Itachi holds back a sigh. "You'll keep watch?"

"Instead of babysitting? Sure."

Itachi sits beside Haku, shifting the younger boy until his head was in Itachi's lap. He settles easily at skin contact. One weapon will know another, and Haku will not harm him. Not deliberately. Itachi closes his eyes, and lets himself pretend, just for a moment, that he is at peace.

The morning finds Haku little better. His skin is clammy to the touch, and he barely stirs as Itachi checks his pulse – thready but not irregular. “I could wake him if you wish,” Itachi offers. Its one of the few medical jutsu he knows, taught to all ANBU.

“So I can have a _cranky_ exhausted brat on my hands? We'll have to carry him either way.” Kisame takes a pointed glance between Haku and Samehada, and smirks. “Well, _you'll_ have to carry him, Itachi-san.”

“You think very highly of your own sense of humor, Kisame-san,” Itachi returns mildly.

It takes them barely a day to reach Tea Country's main business port. _Haku_ takes nearly a week to regain consciousness for more than a few moments. Itachi is bemusedly impressed by this feat of self-destruction. Kisame, less so. Especially since it results in the local innkeeper fussing at him for driving his poor students so hard.

Itachi is thus assigned to infinite babysitting duty while Kisame goes out and kills their assigned targets. He spends most of the week sampling the various teas being shipped to and from the port and covertly establishing a few dead-drops for future use, in between forcing broth down Haku's throat and helping him stumble to the bathroom.

“You're not to do this again,” Itachi orders, the first time Haku manages consciousness for more than a few moments. He keeps his voice calm but without a hint of sympathy. “Find another way to grieve.”

Something flashes in Haku's eyes, there and gone before Itachi can identify it. He hopes it's anger. Hatred. Some passion, harsh enough to jar him from the waking sleep of grief and self-recrimination.

“Yes, sir,” Haku mumbles. His eyes drift past Itachi's face, catching on nothing. He says nothing more, allowing Itachi to maneuver him back onto the bed.

“You've got experience with Haku's type, don't you,” Kisame says that night, as they review the remaining targets.

Itachi tilts his head to the side, considering. “Of a sort.” Haku's crippling dependence on the dead man was not unlike a ROOT agent's connection to Danzo. “The ones I knew had not lost their owner.”

It feels – unkind, Itachi decides – to describe Momochi the same way he would Danzo. Parallels or no. Haku is not a ROOT agent, a blank-eyed vessel made to carry out another's will. Itachi is certain Danzo has made no plans for what will become of his agents after his death. If the man even thinks he can die.

Itachi says none of this. Instead, he offers, “The stablest of them had found ways to work within the system imposed.”

( _Shisui falls in his memory, black water dragging him down. Protect the village, he'd told Itachi. Protect the Uchiha name._ )

“And the unstable ones?” Kisame asks.

Itachi does not look at Haku, still deep in a fevered sleep. “They threw themselves against the bars until something broke.”

 


End file.
